


Shared Rooms

by DarkDreamsOfHannigram



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, M/M, Surgical Procedures, mentions of wounds, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 02:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16337867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDreamsOfHannigram/pseuds/DarkDreamsOfHannigram
Summary: From a prompt for the Kickstarter for FannibalFest2, 2018 Fanbook:"Scene from Digestivo - Hannibal carries Will home, changes him, and puts him to bed. I would love to see this from Hannibal's POV. Does he talk to Will? Bathe him? What does the dressing action look like? Is Will conscious at all?"





	Shared Rooms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ispyanonymously](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ispyanonymously/gifts).



He had been well past the point of exhaustion when Chiyoh had found him and shot the last of Mason’s men who had been pursuing him. It hadn’t mattered though - Hannibal would have carried Will all the way to Wolf Trap if he’d had to. But it was certainly preferable to rest with Will’s head in his lap for the journey in the car instead. 

When they pulled up to the farmhouse, the mist drifting over the flat fields made Hannibal’s mind slow. The seconds before Chiyoh cut the engine stretched into glittering strands, and he brushed Will’s hair from his forehead. He didn’t want to close his eyes, but it was the surest way he knew to commit the moment to the vault in his mind. 

With a final deep breath, the moment passed. He allowed Chiyoh to help him get Will out of the vehicle, but would not permit her to enter the house or help carry Will over the threshold, despite the pain from his own wounds. She left after their brief conversation, and he did not see her again.

He laid Will on the bed, conveniently placed in the front room due to Will’s proclivity for being attuned to and needing to protect his domain, even in sleep. Hannibal didn’t want to move him anymore than was necessary, so the desire to bathe him in the bathtub was unmet. A cursory check of vital signs accomplished, Hannibal sought the supplies he needed: hot water, towels, fresh clothes, clean blankets; things to suture Will’s jawline and what was necessary to sterilize them; and a pad of paper and a writing instrument. 

Tending to Will’s wound from where Cordell started to cut him occupied the greatest of his concentration in these tasks. The thought of Will carrying a scar from this act angered Hannibal almost more than he could endure. 

Speaking softly to Will - no, to the injury itself - he watched every movement of the muscle fibres in his fingers.

“These marks will be as small as I can manage to make them. For them to have written on your skin in this way is a violation I can not allow.”

He nearly laughed when he thought of the time Mason marred his furniture, and the comparison in his mind amused him. He didn’t think of Will as a mere possession like a chair, but the parallels were undeniable. He ensured the neat stitches were clean, and went about the rest of the tasks - undressing, bathing, clothing, and covering Will. He was practically dead weight, still completely unconscious. Hannibal didn’t want his head to loll, so he took his time, moving Will’s arms deliberately and cradling his neck as he managed to put a clean white shirt on his body. He cherished such activities, and hoped he would be able to repeat them many times in the future, no matter what the circumstances. 

When he’d finally gotten Will comfortable, he began to stir. Hannibal smoothed his hair, and Will made a few indistinct murmurs.

Hannibal supposed that even though he was still mostly comatose, he could still hear and understand words on some level of his consciousness. 

“You are safe, Will. Unfortunately I did not get to kill Mason. I imagine Alana and Margot will have taken care of that. I was able to give Cordell his due, though.”

He looked at the notepad and began to sketch on it in his mind. He often did this before putting pencil to paper, creating what he wanted to exist before it did. He thought of equations, designed to manipulate time itself. His visualizations took the form of a teacup, shattering, then time reversing as it came back together.

“If only I could take his life over again,” he said softly to Will, as a lover pledging his eternal faithfulness. “What he did to you, I was able to repair the damage in part, but I fear you will always carry his violation. I did not bear his screams, like the sculptor tolerates the dust, but I delighted in them. I have my memory palace, but in this case, it is sadly inadequate.”

Will let out a sign, as if he had been holding in his breath, and finally completely relaxed. Hannibal smiled.

He supposed this quiet moment of relative bliss wouldn’t last. While he went back to his equations, he tried not to think about how Will would react to what had happened. Hannibal came to the firm and final conclusion that they could never be fully separate from one another. Even if they were not together in corporeal form, there were too many shared rooms in their minds to ever be untethered again. He knew that Will would understand this, but that due to the trauma of recent events, he may not realize it yet.

Hannibal took one last moment to keep forever before Will woke, putting down his writings. He trailed his fingers over Will’s peaceful face; then his eyes began to flutter open.


End file.
